The Impossible

I spent most of the morning rewatching The 100. I'm on episode five so far, but I never get tired of this show. It's distracting me from my brother and sister-in-law's crazy dog Otis who I am babysitting while they're on vacation, and who has way too much energy for me to cope with right now. I try to keep him entertained but he's honestly bored by me and only cares about our dad, who is not going to be home for hours. In the meantime I'm distracting myself by trying to build up some work ethic and get some writing done.

I came up with titles for the next few books in the Divinity series: I already knew books 2 and 3 would be called Atrocity and Calamity respectively, but today I came up with titles for the rest of them. I don't want to share them yet but they're perfect.

Some kind of animal trekked through our yard last night. It had to be something big judging by the size of the prints. I think it was a big cat, like a cougar or lynx. I hope it was a lynx because cougars scare me more. I also hope I never encounter it.

It ran in circles around the thicket outside my window, then went up our back hill into the woods. I really hope it doesn't veer back this way because I don't want it lurking around, but I followed the tracks like a dumb person in a horror movie (I took a metal shovel with me in case I had to take a swing at something, but still)... I have no idea how our ancestors hunted shit like that. No thanks, I'm all good on the killer kitty front.

I spent all day yesterday reading the new run of Buffy comics. It's 34 issues and it's really good. I honestly hope they put out more.

I've only seen a few seasons of Buffy, but I genuinely love it. I never thought Xander would be my favorite character when Buffy is right there, but God, he won me over. He's an amazing guy in this run, at least for most of it, and some of his storylines are heartbreaking. He was a devoted slayer (even though he's not an official slayer, 'cause they're always badass ladies, not gents.)

I also finished Fables. Finally. 151 issues, give or take. I might read the 'Fairest' spin-off soon too, but I want to read the Buffy spinoff 'Angel' first. His comic and Buffy's had a crossover event called Hellmouth that was pretty good, but it's really part of the main Buffy storyline.

If most of this seems like mundane, boring stuff, it's because I was trying to distract myself from the hellscape on the news. Between the pandemic, the war, and all the political stuff going on, I've been so stressed about everything and the constant stream of exposure to bad news hasn't helped, so burying myself in fiction for the last few days is a familiar old coping mechanism. Especially since it's hard to focus on work with my brother's crazy dog running around here anyway, let alone what's going on in the world.

I will say I'm incredibly impressed by folks in Ukraine fighting for their freedom and country, as well as the protestors in Russia standing up to that jackass Putin. Vladdy-boy really thought his warmongering propaganda would work, but I think we're seeing humanity rise to the occasion.

I suppose that's all I've got for now: the world is insane, my house is in disarray and this dog is drooling and shedding everywhere. And a monster is lurking in the woods outside my window. But it's all good, maybe, hopefully.

I'm gonna get back to doing little scraps of editing and outlining work and hope I can pull my shit together, and the world will pull its shit together.

Until then, back to watching The 100 and trying not to get eaten alive by a cougar. Or a lynx.

Something I Once Said

Here's a passage I wrote on this blog way back in 2016 that I found again today and really needed to hear:

AT LEAST ONCE in your writing career, but probably way more times than that, you will find yourself sitting on the floor in your underwear, getting drunk and crying, wondering if you're throwing your life away. You may or may not try to ask your dead relatives for advice from beyond the grave. They won't give it to you, though, selfish villains that they are. This is normal. This is the stress of being a living, working artist. But you know why you got into this and you know what it means to you, so don't you fucking let your stress win. We've all felt like we were facing doomsday at one point or another, legacy or self-published, and those storms always pass. It doesn't matter if you're a first-time indie or the next Suzanne Collins with hype and a big six publisher and a movie deal at your back - you have undertaken a huge project, and you are allowed to have a human moment about it, okay?

Maybe you need to hear it today too, so here it is.

I Want Whiskey When I'm Sick

(Title from the song Thin Line by Honey Honey)

I'm pretty sure in my last blog post I said I'd post the next day, and now it's three days later, but that's fine because I was busy working. Plus I don't think many people read this blog anymore. I used to get 30 or so views per post, average, and now I get like 4 or 5 per post. I haven't published anything new in forever and I don't advertise this blog as much as I used to, so it's fair. I'm sure traffic will pick up as I get back into publishing and start blogging more.

Today I finished another short story and polished up the first chapter of this novella 'Glimpse' which I normally don't do, but it needed a few paragraphs added to really set up the story efficiently. It felt wrong to leave it any longer. Tonight I'm going to write at least three more chapters. I'm hoping I can finish it but I don't want to bite off more then I can chew and intimidate myself.

To be honest I've been very exhausted and on-edge the last few days. I'm a generally stressful and paranoid person and I have no real emotional support network because I find it hard to open up to people or trust them, so I tend to just bottle things up until I inevitably have huge emotional and mental breakdowns. It's probably due to my highly chaotic and abusive early life, but in the past few years I've lost several family members, five pets, witnessed other family members devolve into intense drug addictions that caused huge fights and rifts in the family, lost friendships, had several breakdowns, and relapsed several times with self-harming. For a long time I beat myself up for all my bad choices and failures, but recently as I start to come out of it, get back to myself, and engage in slightly healthier behaviours, I've come to realize three vital things:

1. I've suffered a lot more than I allowed myself to acknowledge and it really took a huge toll on me that I was in straight up denial about. Things hit you one after the other and you put blinders on to deal with them, existing on auto-pilot for months at a time, so you can only see it all as a whole months or years out from the fact. In retrospect everything happened so fast it's insane. 2016-2018 have been the single most traumatizing years of my life so far.

2. I can never be the person I was before all this happened. I've spent a long time trying to be the person I was at eleven, or fourteen, or sixteen, and I have to accept those versions of me are gone and I've gone through permanently life-altering and personality-altering trauma. I have to forge a new identity even if the loss of my old self makes me sad.

3. It's not enough to acknowledge what you've been through. You have to forgive yourself and hold yourself accountable at the same time. The only thing I can control is me, right now. I can't take back my past actions or habits, I can't go back and relive my life or get any do-overs. I have to be better in the present and do things differently, having learned from my mistakes.

So that's where I'm at now. I'm slowly getting back on track with writing and publishing. I'm trying to go outside more even if it's just to walk the dogs for five minutes. I'm cutting sugar out of my coffee nine times out of ten. And I'm being more forgiving of myself and getting better at telling the evil, snide voice in my head to shut up.

I should probably be in intense therapy and on medication, but both of those things cost money, even here in Canada, and I can't afford them right now. Even if I could, I'm not sure I'm ready for therapy and may never be, but I'm making healthier choices and trying to be more mindful, and most of the time I'm able to get through the day by focusing on little things. Writing a certain number of words. Rewatching BoJack Horseman. Doing small chores around the house and escaping into video games. Basically trying to do things that make me feel present in the moment while also distracting me from the things I constantly stress about.

Here's a brief list:

• life and death
• the human soul
• relatives I've lost
• friends I no longer speak to
• things I said but wish I could take back
• things I didn't say but wish I did
• relatives I wish I had a better relationship with
• how much I generally hate myself
• how I'll spend my entire life either manic or depressive
• my talent or lack of it
• what if I end up homeless?
• what if the world ends?
• how will I stop from killing myself?
• why don't I talk to X anymore?
• my lack of a high school diploma
• how certain relationships will always be strained because of past abuse
• how I'll never let anyone in again because of said past abuse
• whether or not I'm redeemable
• whether or not any of us are redeemable
• is there an afterlife?
• did my now dead pets know I loved them?
• could I have saved certain people if I knew what I know now?

And the list goes on and on. I imagine scenarios that won't happen and get crazy over them. And even if they do happen in some approximation, worrying about them now only means I have to worry and be stressed twice. So I'm shutting down worries and anxiety and tying to worry about situations as they come. Going with the flow, I guess they say.

The truth is I think I reached such a high amount of anxiety, the part of my brain that handles stress and anxiety just broke or something, and now it barely registers. I overloaded the machine, lol.

Or maybe I'm used to living with such high amounts of stress it's just my new normal.

I wish they would recast me sometimes, like when Marnie from Halloweentown turned into Sarah Paxton/Aquamarine, and Reggie from Riverdale turned into an actor with a less punchable face. If I got to just go away, and someone else had to step into the role of Kai for a day. That would be nice.

Actually, on the subject of Reggie from Riverdale, the actor who played him in season one--who is also in 13 Reasons Why, where I like him better--is caught up in a murder investigation with Kurt Cobain's daughter, over a guitar her ex-husband took in their divorce. It's kind of crazy they do keep asking for the guitar back, though. Her ex sounds like a dick, but if she gave it to him, she gave it to him, and she can't really act like she gets it back now just because she regrets it. Maybe don't give away the last object you have of your dead father's to a man, no matter how much you like him?

Maybe that's just me; I have no problem giving stuff away, including expensive stuff, but I won't if it has sentimental value. I have certain blankets, old stuffed animals, and little ornaments and random statuettes from my dead grandma that I know I'll never give away. It's just too important.

I wish I started keeping a diary when I was younger, but I didn't think my memories would be so precious years down the road.

Anyway, enough of the heavy. I had to get that all off my chest. But tonight is really a good night; I did some good work and now I'm going to make a few little pizzas and do research on Ancient Rome for a fantasy short I might write. I'm excited about the work I have coming up. I stepped on a staple today and squirted blood everywhere and now my foot hurts, so that's not fun, but my dad pulled it out and it's not bloody anymore. Writing will distract me from the pain, I'm hoping.

I've always been very clumsy, especially as a kid, but now it's pretty bad again. If I worked out more my core balance would probably be better, but as it is I run into shit and stumble over nothing and impale myself on splinters. Yikes.

If I hear a weird noise I go explore it, too, so I bet I'd die in a horror movie. The new season of American Horror Story looks like it will be a slasher set in the eighties. The next season the witches come back, apparently, again. So then the show might end. Which is sad. But even if they renew it I think Ryan Murphy is too busy for it, he has a lot on the go, along with his new Netflix deal, so I think he could pass the torch to someone new. I think if he leaves, Sarah Paulson, Kathy Bates, and Even Peters might leave, but I hope fans would stay loyal while the show reinvents itself into something new.

I guess I'll leave you with my current ranking of AHS Seasons from best to worst:

1. Cult
2. Roanoke
3. Coven
4. Hotel
5. Murder House
6. Apocalypse
7. Asylum
8. Freak Show

And if you've never seen the show, but don't like anthologies and want a normal chronological show to watch, go in this order:

1. Murder House
2. Coven
3. Hotel
4. Roanoke
5. Cult
6. Apocalypse

Some people might debate me on this, but here's my reasoning: Murder House is the first season and a good introduction to show as a whole, it introduces The Harmons and murder house, which are important figures, and prepares you for the craziness of the show, and the mythology of ghosts. Coven is next in the timeline, chronologically, and it expands on the mythology of ghosts to introduce witches, zombies, immortals, and also some minor deities and the existence of hell, which is important to the overall story. Hotel then explores ghosts in more depth, introduces the Cortez, and of course features a returning Coven character in an important plot point for the show overall.

Roanoke and Cult may be controversial here for their placement potentially, since they break up the ghosts/coven ARC, but I think they're important asides to explore the 'human nature in times of chaos' and 'the danger of political turmoil' themes that are present in Apocalypse. You could easily watch them in the same order before Murder House, though. Finally Apocalypse reunites characters from Coven and Murder House, and wraps up many of the fan favourite character's storylines in a better way than Coven did. It's interesting to see the casts of two seasons collide, especially when the fate of the world is at hand.

AHS is insanely good but I don't think it's a hugely accessible show for a lot of audiences, so if you haven't seen it, I hope you watch it. I never finished Asylum or Freak Show because I didn't care for them, but I'll watch them all the way through one day, when I get them all on DVD.

I covet AHS, True Blood, The Vampire Diaries, American Dad and Family Guy on DVD. Once I have every season of those shows in my collection, everything will be complete. At this point in my life I thought I would have enough money to buy some DVDs, but you win some, you lose some. I do have season one of True Blood, but some of those episodes skip in places, so.

Anyway, that's enough ranting about depression and TV shows today. I'm going to go cook pizza and figure out what to do with my life.

The Struggle Is Real

Marketing is torture. Seriously. It's the worst part of being self-published.

My books won't sell if I don't push them on people, but my anxiety refuses to let me. It also makes writing painful sometimes. Like tonight. Which is why I'm writing this blog post instead to rant about it.

Sometimes when I'm writing it feels like I'm flying, and I hammer out like seven thousand words in a sitting and walk away glowing, feeling like a boss. And then sometimes, like tonight, literally nothing sounds more painful than writing.

I'm struggling to put down a single chapter, let alone more than a thousand or two words. It's uncomfortable and it has me on edge.

Normally when it isn't flowing, I just do something else. Tonight I'm forcing myself to keep going, because I'm determined to put out two novellas next month, but I have to be honest, every word feels painful. Even this blog post is giving me difficulty.

Sometimes I can sit down and write about whatever is in my head--I talk about stupid tv shows I like or what I'm listening to. And sometimes that's fun. Most of the time it is. Then there are nights like this, where it feels pointless, like I'm just adding to the noise and I have nothing important or useful or meaningful to say.

The truth is, some of the joy goes out of writing once you start having to constantly stress over the financial aspects of it. I'm worried about how good my writing is or what vibes I should go for with a project, and then it's compounded with whether or not it will even sell, or how I'll get reviews for it when I can't even email a book blogger without having a mild identity crisis.

I know I'm not the only one who goes through it, either, but this can be a really lonely profession. We all feel that. I get it.

Still, it sucks.

For tonight, I'm just going to remind myself I've done this before and I can do it again, too. I've written 50,000 words in five days. I've written 75,000 words in fourteen days. I can do this. I've finished seven books, what's one more, in the grand scheme of things?

I'm going to take a deep breath. Keep writing. And hope for the best.